


in such movement, i am still

by partypaprika



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-07 15:11:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5460914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partypaprika/pseuds/partypaprika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Gaby was young, just after her father had left, her mother had brought home a newspaper clipping of the Statue of Liberty. “My darling,” Gaby’s mother had said. “Your father has gone to help the people here. Maybe we will join him one day there.” </p><p>--</p><p>Gaby knew that leaving East Berlin would mean change. But knowing about change and having to actually adjust to it are two very different things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in such movement, i am still

**Author's Note:**

  * For [athersgeo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/athersgeo/gifts).



> athersgeo, I hope you enjoy this!
> 
> Thank you so much to merle_p for the amazing beta work and to Y and N for reviewing and cheerleading!

After Istanbul, Waverly recalls them to New York City. A car picks them up at the airport and brings them into the city. Napoleon has been trying to play it cool but Gaby can tell that he’s thrilled to be back in New York. He spends the car ride describing everything that he just has to take Gaby and Illya to see. Illya, on the other hand, spends the car ride silent, a half sneer on his face, as if disgust alone will prevent the surrounding capitalism from tainting him. Gaby distantly wonders if perhaps Illya is right to be concerned, if maybe Illya will lose his way while he is here. Only time will tell.

 

And Gaby? As she listens to Napoleon describe the sights (“You’ll see the Empire State Building over there,” or “We’re coming up on Rockefeller Place,” or even, “Just around here, you’ll get a glimpse of the Statue of Liberty”), she feels nothing. Absolutely empty.

 

When Gaby was young, just after her father had left, her mother had brought home a newspaper clipping of the Statue of Liberty. “My darling,” Gaby’s mother had said. “Your father has gone to help the people here. Maybe we will join him one day there.”

 

Gaby’s mother has been dead for many years. And now her father is dead as well.

 

 

 

 

They are escorted through headquarters by a young woman in a dark green skirt and white blouse with kitten pumps that clack loudly across the marble floor. She smiles at them, perhaps trying to make them feel comfortable, on the way to Waverly’s office. Once she’s successfully ushered the team into Waverly’s office, she flashes a perfectly dimpled smile, which Waverly rewards with a slight nod, and the woman closes the door behind herself with a soft click.

 

“Welcome,” Waverly says, gesturing that Illya, Napoleon and Gaby should take the three seats spread out in front of the desk. Napoleon and Illya look at Gaby, indicating that she should take a seat first. Gaby purses her lips but takes the chair farthest away from Waverly, giving her a broader view of the room. Napoleon instantly takes the seat next to her and Illya clenches his fists slightly but takes the last seat.

 

“Good,” Waverly says. “I would like to start by saying that you three did excellent work in Istanbul. I’m quite pleased with the results of U.N.C.L.E.’s trial run. The CIA and KGB have graciously allowed a more permanent transfer so we will continue to have the three of you work together as a team. Since we do expect that the three of you will work together for quite some time, we will be giving you permanent housing here in our employee facilities. Mrs. Palo will arrange for your transportation there.”

 

Gaby finds herself unexpectedly so angry that she has difficulty breathing. It’s like a flush of heat physically engulfs her. But no one notices, Napoleon tilting his head and instead asking Waverly, “When will we start our next assignment?”

 

“Tomorrow morning, after you’ve had a chance to rest, we will go through the assignment. Although you will be based here in New York for the near future,” Waverly adds as an afterthought. Gaby forces herself to take cool even breaths. In and out. In and out.

 

Napoleon turns to Gaby and what he sees is enough to make him raise an eyebrow. Waverly then turns to look as well. “Gaby, is there a problem?” Waverly asks.

 

Gaby gives a quick shake of her head. What had she been expecting? That Waverly would give her a pat on the head and then show her on her way. She had only been promised her full freedom. Instead, she’s merely traded one group spying on her with another. “It is nothing,” she says. “I am just tired.”

 

 

 

 

The young woman, Mrs. Palo, comes back in after Waverly calls for her on his intercom. They walk through the building and Mrs. Palo hands them all envelopes with the keys to their new residences. Gaby tunes out Mrs. Palo’s chatter about their new neighborhood and instead focuses on the clack of Mrs. Palo’s heels across the floor. It’s almost soothing, one two one two one two.

 

Gaby pretends that she’s listening to an engine. The tapping noises are likely a little too fast to be an upper valve train, although Gaby would start by checking the car’s oil pressure. Then she would move on to check if any of the parts were worn or broken. Maybe it’s an easy problem—a bad belt that needs to be replaced.

 

By the time that Illya, Napoleon and Gaby get to the front of the building, Gaby feels marginally calmer. Napoleon thanks Mrs. Palo for the team and Mrs. Palo’s cheeks blush slightly as she says goodbye.

 

“Gaby, are you doing alright?” Napoleon asks once they get in the car.

 

“Of course,” Gaby says and looks out the window.

 

 

 

 

Gaby lets herself into her new home, apartment 312. Napoleon and Illya are both on the same floor, down the hall, but she’s glad that they didn’t insist on walking her in. There’s a small table near the entrance where Gaby places her keys. The entrance leads into an open plan kitchen and living room. Off to the right there are two doors: presumably a bedroom and a bathroom. Gaby explores the kitchen first.

 

She opens the door to find that the refrigerator has been stocked. There are twelve bottles of Coca-Cola on the top shelf, four unopened bags of cold cuts on the second row, and some vegetables and produce in the closed drawers in the bottom. There are half a dozen eggs and a stick of butter in the refrigerator door. There is no Asco-Cola or Vita-Cola or even Margon, which Gaby always hated.

 

Gaby is certain that whomever bought these items did not wait hours in a line to get them. They probably just went to the store, asked for them and then purchased them. Gaby swallows and closes the refrigerator door. No sense in letting out the cold.

 

She briefly looks through the rest of the kitchen. It is stocked with dry goods and there is a bowl of fruit on the table. Gaby realizes that there is a whole bunch of bananas in the bowl and she can't help but count them. She reaches her hand out to touch the banana’s skin. She can’t remember the last time she had a banana to herself.

 

There is also an oven, stove top and a microwave. Gaby doesn't check, but she's fairly certain that the appliances would say that they were this year's model. In the living room, there is a television and a brand new radio. It's not like this is all new to Gaby--after all, the team had stayed in hotels with these amenities and more. But it's different for some reason, the thought of sleeping a room away from all this every night, of having her new home be filled with this.

 

 

 

 

That night when Gaby lies in bed wearing pajamas that someone else picked out for her, that no one waited in line to get or sewed by hand, she thinks about Waverly. When he had come to her two years ago, she had known that it was a possibility that she would leave the country one day. In fact, she had counted on it. She would have jumped at the chance to leave. After all, any ties she may have had to East Berlin are now gone. 

 

Gaby has no desire to spend her whole life suffocating slowly in East Berlin. But, she had always lived there. It was the only place she had called home. There was a world of difference between knowing that she could one day finally leave East Germany and actually leaving it. 

 

 

 

 

Waverly gives them their new assignment the next morning. "You will be watching Mr. Richard Ledger." He hands Gaby a folder which Gaby peruses while he continues to talk. "Mr. Ledger currently runs a  chemical manufacturing company. We believe he may be developing a new type of chemical weapon with plans to sell and distribute it through the black market. He may be meeting with buyers this week."

 

Gaby finishes looking through the folder and hands it to Illya. "We would like you to set up surveillance on him," Waverly says. "And report back any items of interest."

 

 

 

 

Gaby and Illya go to bug Mr. Ledger's house while Napoleon heads to Mr. Ledger's office. Mr. Ledger lives in a large three story townhouse with his wife and young daughter. The Ledgers employ a maid as well so Gaby and Illya watch the house until Mrs. Ledger and the daughter depart for school and the maid leaves to presumably run the day's errands. 

 

After making sure that the coast is clear, Illya picks the lock on the front door and he and Gaby slip in. Gaby takes the top floor with the bedrooms while Illya takes the bottom. When Gaby finishes bugging the top floor, she starts on the middle floor with the living room and dining room. There are a series of family photographs in the living room and Gaby finds herself looking at one of Mr. Ledger and his daughter. The daughter is about four in the photograph and Mr. Leger is holding her by the hand as she smiles at the camera. There's a faint soreness in Gaby's chest that she ignores. 

 

"Gaby," Illya says suddenly. Gaby forces away the urge to jump and slowly turns to look at him. He has an eyebrow raised. "Is there a problem?"

 

Gaby is getting very tired of everyone asking the same question. "Of course not," Gaby says. 

 

 

 

 

After Gaby and Illya leave Mr. Ledger's residence, they contact Napoleon. Napoleon has gotten access to the company records by pretending he's a tax specialist. "It will take me a while to find the relevant information," Napoleon says. "But I've bugged his office and according to his secretary, he's having lunch at Keens Steakhouse."

 

 

 

 

For the rest of the day, Gaby and Illya tail Mr. Ledger. Gaby is able to strategically brush against Mr. Ledger in a crowd and plant a bug in his jacket, so she and Illya have an audible soundtrack as Mr. Ledger goes from lunch to a meeting about new manufacturers of base ingredients to another meeting on the company's global distribution model. It is exceptionally boring.

 

After Mr. Ledger finishes work, he heads straight home. When he opens the door, he's greeted by a small bundle who immediately hugs his legs. "I seem to have something blocking my path," Mr. Ledger says, his voice very serious. "Which is unfortunate, because I would like to go find my daughter and give her a hug." 

 

The daughter dissolves into giggles and holds tighter, so Mr. Ledger starts moving forward and closes the door behind him. Gaby and Illya listen to Mr. Ledger move throughout the house, finally stopping and, going by the daughter's laughter, picking her up. 

 

Unbidden, Gaby remembers her father coming home from work when she was little and scooping her up to give her a hug. He was probably already working for the Nazis, Gaby reminds herself. He doesn't deserve to be missed. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Gaby gets home that night, she feels overheated and on edge. She thinks back to Mr. Ledger coming home to his daughter and it's like there's a weight on her chest making it hard to breathe. After she lets herself into the apartment, Gaby goes straight to the fridge and pulls out one of the Coca-Colas. She needs something, anything, to cool her down. 

 

But when Gaby takes a sip, she almost immediately spits it out. The Coca-Cola is sickly-sweet and it tastes...wrong. The aftertaste lingers in her mouth and Gaby hates it, wants it gone, wishes she'd never even opened this horrible drink.

 

The pressure on Gaby's chest increases as she stares down at the gaudy red label and Gaby wants to rip it off. She's so angry, angrier than she can ever remember being. She's angry at this bottle of Coca-Cola for not being Vita-Cola. She's angry at her father for helping the Nazis and building nuclear weapons. She's angry at Victoria for shooting her father. She's angry at Waverly for changing her life. 

 

Before Gaby even thinks about it, she's thrown the bottle at the wall. 

 

There's a loud sound as the bottle hits the wall and shatters, Coca-Cola spraying everywhere and the glass hitting the ground. Gaby's breathing hard but the weight in her chest has eased a little. With a sense of detachment, Gaby reaches for the next bottle of Coca-Cola. She throw it as hard as she can against the wall. It breaks and joins its sibling on the ground. 

 

She picks up the next. Then the next. Then the next. They each shatter beautifully against the wall, the brownish liquid cascading down and staining the floor. Gaby methodically takes the next bottle. 

 

 

 

 

Napoleon and Illya break in on the ninth bottle. Gaby hears the scratching at the door and understands that they are picking her lock. Gaby ignores it and throws the bottle at the wall anyways. There's a brief pause from the door when the bottle shatters, followed by an increase in scratching. When they burst in, they're both flushed and breathing heavily. 

 

They stop short when they see Gaby standing there. "Gaby," Napoleon starts, a little desperately, but before he can finish, Illya clamps a hand over Napoleon's mouth and shakes his head. 

 

Gaby maintains eye contact with them when she picks up the next bottle. She throws it at the wall and Illya and Napoleon track it, but neither of them flinch at the sound.  

 

“I was a fucking mechanic,” Gaby says. She picks up the second to last Coca-Cola and throws it against the wall. The wall is now covered with reddish-brown liquid which drips down the walls and forms puddles amongst the broken glass. “Maybe one of the few things I’ve fully loved. And now I’m a spy. I watch other people live their lives without deciding how I want to live mine. Maybe I want to be a spy or maybe I want to be a mechanic, but when was I ever asked?”

 

Napoleon and Illya don’t respond. They just stand there, watching her. It’s not quite pity but more like empathy. Or saddened understanding. Gaby grits her molars together.

 

Gaby picks up the last Coca-Cola and throws it as hard as she can at the wall. Once the bottle hits the wall and shatters, Gaby feels all of her energy suddenly dissipate. Her knees bend precariously and Gaby tries to reach out for something to stop her fall, but all she gets is a handful of muscle. Illya’s rushed forward to catch her and Napoleon is on her other side, gently holding her up.

 

“It is done,” Gaby says, so tired. “It is done." 

 

 

 

 

The next morning when Gaby wakes up, she sees that the mess from last night is gone. She imagines Napoleon and Illya carefully picking up the glass shards and wiping off the wall and feels horribly embarrassed. But when she tries to say anything on the way to their daily surveillance of Mr. Ledger, they both brush her off. 

 

"With all that broken glass, it felt like a party," Napoleon says. 

 

"When else do I get to order Cowboy around," Illya says. "And have him listen." 

 

"Hey, there was no ordering around last night," Napoleon says, but he's doing the thing with his eyes where he's really laughing at Illya. 

 

"If," Illya says, quieter now. "If you would like to talk..." He looks profoundly embarrassed, a faint blush creeping up his neck. 

 

"What Peril means to say is that if you would like to talk about anything, we're here," Napoleon says, although he also looks a little uncomfortable. 

 

Gaby allows herself a small smile. She feels sore and tired in a way that isn't physical, but she's not sure there's anything to fix that. "No," she says. "No talking needed." 

 

"Phew," Napoleon says under his breath and Illya lets out a sigh of relief. 

 

 

 

 

At the end of the week, Napoleon directs the cab driver down a new way. Gaby watches the buildings outside and realizes that they have gone into a much rougher area than she normally sees in the city. The cab suddenly stops and Napoleon pushes everyone out. 

 

"Where are we?" Gaby asks. 

 

Napoleon smiles secretively. "You'll see," is all that he says. When Gaby looks over at Illya, he's deliberately looking up and avoiding eye contact. Gaby rolls her eyes. 

 

Napoleon walks up to a door next to a closed mechanic's garage. After a few minutes, a man in coveralls opens up the door. He glares at the group. "You’re late," he says and then turns around and heads inside, leaving the door open. Napoleon gestures for Gaby and Illya to follow.

 

The man hands something to Napoleon, which Napoleon passes to Gaby, revealing a set of keys. "This is for you," Napoleon says and gestures to the corner of the garage. Gaby holds the keys tightly and walks over to the corner where there is an old Chrysler Plymouth. 

 

"The owner says that you're allowed to come here and use their tools whenever you want. The garage key is on the key ring." 

 

"Oh, he just said that?" Gaby asks. 

 

Illya makes a slight noise. "We are very persuasive," he says. Gaby should feel guilty that Illya and Napoleon have probably threatened some guy so that she could use her mechanic skills, but instead she feels a faint lump in her throat.

 

Gaby unlocks the car door before she does something embarrassing. On the front seat is a slim folder. Gaby picks it up and looks at Illya and Napoleon. 

 

"We did not find food or drinks from your home here," Illya says. "But we thought this is maybe good enough." 

 

Gaby opens up the folder and her mouth falls open. There are five or six photographs of Gaby when she was younger with her family. Any remaining pictures in her old home would have undoubtedly been removed by the Stasi, so these must have been from Gaby's file held by the KGB, CIA or MI6.

 

There's one from when Gaby was fifteen, still in her school uniform, with her mother's arm curled around Gaby, the two of them smiling at the camera. There's another one of Gaby's father holding Gaby when she was a baby, one hand stroking Gaby's cheek. There's even one from when Gaby was very young, posed with both of her parents.

 

Tears prick at Gaby's eyes and she can't seem to speak for a moment. She can't even look over at Napoleon and Illya, so instead she puts the folder down and puts the key in the ignition before turning it. The engine makes the hacking, ugly sound as if it is about to cough-up a lung and the engine doesn't even catch. Gaby wouldn't be surprised if this car was on the verge of death.

 

"This car is a piece of shit," Gaby says, finally turning to Illya and Napoleon who are carefully watching her. But she can't stop smiling and they both smile back, even Illya. Gaby thinks that this will never be like her home in East Berlin, but that maybe it could become her new home.

 


End file.
